The air hums from the wing beats of this enormous starling flock flowing through the cold. They seem so fucking real. Above the traffic din I can hear their chittering, too; I can SEE their shadow cast on the ground as they move between the buildings; I’m sure I could feel the wind from their struggle.

All this means THEY. ARE. THERE.... right?

But are they?

In this waning dim my mind must at least relate to the question before I address it. If I could not think, then the question about these birds would not exist, would it? Because nothing to me would be comprehensible. And if the question does not exist, how could its subject?

The morning brightness exclaims that my reality only exists when I contemplate it, and vanishes with my disregard or death. So — how can it be real if existence is so variable?

We don’t see the truth because we are blind. What blinds us are all those false beliefs we have in our mind. We have the need to be right and to make others wrong. We trust what we believe, and our beliefs set us up for suffering. It is as if we live in the middle of a fog that doesn’t let us see any further than our own nose. We live in a fog that is not even real.